Afterimage
by Azaleo Quartet
Summary: AU; The mysterious disappearance of Lotte Carmine leaves the world baffled and the hunt for answers begins, inadvertently throwing an unwilling man's life into a pool of suspects to help solve the puzzling case behind the scenes. T for now; M later.


Hey everyone. My name's Az, and as you can see, this is my first fic uploaded into this website.

Basically, this AU revolves around the many suspects that may be involved with Lotte Carmine(Arakune)'s disappearance. To fill you guys in a bit, this fic will revolve around Takamagahara Modeling Agency and the disappearance of one of the few crew members who help around - Lotte. Models, agents, and janitors alike are suspected of knowing something about the mystery, but is there a deeper meaning behind this case? Rated T for now, M later for adult situations. This is mainly mystery, after all, so I guess a dish of spicy romance can help serve my guests better...?

Originally, this was written as a Ragna/Lambda fic, but the lack of mystery in this fandom irks me.

This first chapter is through Ragna's perspective as a new recruit. I feel like I sped things up to fast, but I wanted to get in depth early in the next few chapters. Also, to keep things consistent, I have given more natural names to Mu and Tager; Melody Vermilion and Aaron "Iron" Tager respectively, though Terumi calls Melody "Mu" out of the twisted affection he has for her. Nu's too adorable to be given another name.  
>And guess which three green-headed trolls happen to be triplets working here?<p>

Crap. I spoiled too much already, I think.  
>Hope you guys enjoy this, and don't forget to tell me what you'd like to see in a review.<p>

Thanks!

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><p><strong>Afterimage<strong>

"_Meet the Photographer_"

The sudden call of the awakening screaming from the alarm clock on the nightstand forced me to reach a sluggish arm out to fling over to the wall. The sound of it shattering into dozens of bits does the job in making me get up – but I couldn't care less for the piece of shit; I could fix it, after all. I manage to haul myself over to the edge of the bed to sit upright and rub my eyes before grabbing my silver watch. It ticked silently each second, the hands pointed in the fashion which read 5:12. I grumble as I start for the bathroom – God, my apartment room's pretty small – for a quick shower before heading out to start the first day of my new job. The cold shower makes me think of why I sunk so low to settle in such a shitty dump like this in the first place: Why again? Oh, right. I stopped. I stopped trying to do anything at all. Ever since Nu, my girlfriend, gave into her illness and passed away. I've moved on like a man, settling down in a new area by myself and managing a decent living, but have been unable to pick up my trusty old camera, Black Onslaught – AKA, Black Sabbath 2.0 – to take another picture since. Today, though, would push me back into the world of shuttering and snapping clicks, and I knew I'd have to be branded as a photographer again.

I step out with a towel and turn on the TV as I pick up something to wear. I grab some jeans, a white tee, and a vest before turning my attention to the screen. Something about some guy called "Carmine" disappearing, and today marked the third month since he was reported to be missing. I shrug and turn it off, figuring that there's nothing good on the news, anyways. I pull up a dusty red cap over my silver hair that's always kept up in messy spikes and take a good look at myself in the slightly cracked mirror. Being the somewhat hopeless guy after his girlfriend died, I naturally died my hair like hers, but it seemed like some of my natural blond hairs were coming through. I try not to make myself feel worse and turn to the closet to grab a large, ebony case that contained the only thing I had left – faithful, faithful Onslaught. I pat the case a few times before heaving the strap around my shoulder, pulling on my shoes, and locking the door. There wasn't much to steal besides my clothes in there anyways.

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><p>Much to my luck, the bus is already at the side of the block as I exit the apartment building, but I waste no time boarding it. It was still early, so I wasn't surprised to see only three other people there – three girls, actually. They each looked about my younger brother's age, around their early twenties, but differed from each other greatly. The redhead in the middle is reading silently to herself while the blond to her left is sleeping, leaned into her shoulder with a snore, thought much more silent compared to the loud brunette who was louder than the bus itself. I can't help but to feel sorry for her, but she catches my eye and gives me a small, weak smile, as if she were used to it. I shrug my shoulders back, and for the remainder of the half-hour ride, I sit quietly, just thinking about my new contract.<p>

My younger brother, Jin, is a university student studying to become a doctor for our little sister, Saya's sake, and somehow, through his witting charm, managed to land me in a contract with Takamagahara Modeling Agency as a primary fashion photographer. He was a stubborn enough to convince me _after_ he had already bound me to the job, and being the loving older brother who didn't want to worry his siblings, here I am looking like a total retard by himself on a bus to some fancy-ass building. My eyes twitch when I see the building draw close, and I get off briskly to make my way towards the erect, white building, its shadow dominating the others behind it with its shadow. I squint my eyes at the glow emitted from the rising sun settling in barely over the other buildings around and quickly make my way through the automatic doors that read 'TAKAMAGAHARA' in bold lettering.

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><p>I hear myself groan when I find that the lobby is empty; not even the cliché beauty that was responsible for giving information from sitting behind the front desk was there. I look around the crisp, clean walls decorated with a few posters and framed pictures of whom I guessed were models that were often called in; The most notable being that of Melody Vermillion, her long, blond hair flayed out in the nonexistent wind in the picture, poised with her back facing the viewer and face coyly peering over her shoulder. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't into that kind of figure. She had a nice ass.<p>

I tilt my head for a second, wondering why I felt like I just saw her a while ago, but I don't recall such a thing happening. I brush it off and find the directory of levels by the elevators and curse. The names Relius Clover, Aaron "Iron" Tager, and others that were listed were unfamiliar to me, and I realized I should have listened to my brother more closely when he last visited a few days ago to go over my job. "Fuck." I let the curse slip, knowing that there wasn't anyone else around anyways. I secretly prayed for someone to finally step in to lead the way like some guardian angel while I stood before the listing like some retard. To think that I wouldn't have to live off some shitty scraps anymore…

"Excuse me." I look up, and there stood… _Nu?_

I almost let that slip out, but I take a second look at the girl and realize my eyes were probably getting old. Nu never wore glasses, and she much preferred her own albino traits to that of any typical blond's. This girl-that-isn't-Nu had a long, wheat-blond braid sitting around her shoulder and hands holding each other firmly as if a little nervous. I realize I'm gawking at her this entire pause she's had when she speaks again. "Excuse me," she repeats, "you… look a little lost. Perhaps I can help you?" She lets go of a hand to keep her glasses form slipping off her nose, and I nod. I silently confirm that this definitely wasn't Nu, no matter how much she looked like her. Nu was perky, blunt, straightforward, and everything besides polite. This girl before me, on the other hand, seemed much more timid and looks like she gave it her all when she asked me if I needed her help. Poor thing.

"Yeah, uh, you see…" I start, trying my best not to sound like a total dumbass. "I was told to come here for an appointed shoot at-" I look at my watch for a split second. "7:15. Which is in about an hour and a half. And no, I'm not the model, I'm the photographer." I slap myself mentally for sounding like a pathetic dumbass.

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><p>She widens her eyes for a second, surprising me with her large, dark eyes, but returns them to their timid shell as she purses her lips and turns towards the elevators. "Please come this way, then. I'll take you to see someone who can help you get started." I follow the nameless, bespectacled girl into the elevator, hands firm in my pockets. The silence seemed awkward as I linger a small glance at the girl, who seemed to be peeking back through her long bangs: No, she was actually looking at my old camera's case. I begin to wonder if we could start a conversation discussing cameras, figuring that she may have an interest in photography, but by the time I build up a question, the small <em>ding!<em> of the elevator indicated we've arrived at the destined floor where I'd finally be able to get an evening footing to continue my life. She leads me through a narrow hall that makes me arch a brow as we press on. The music in the distance was blasted mildly loud enough for us to hear through crack of an office door, and upon being this close, I can hear the lyrics along to Michael Jackson's "_Smooth Criminal_" playing.

The blond girl knocks softly on the door softly, even though it's opened by a bit, and it opens to reveal a man that matched the song rather nicely. His tidy, green hair seemed to have been well tamed, much like his black and white suit, giving him a rather slick, but sophisticated appearance. By guessing with that rather eerie smile of his, he was most certainly, a 'smooth criminal'. "Oh, why hello there, Lambda! You're a little later than expected… But I see you've brought a guest! Is he your boyfriend? Brother? Cousin? Friend?" He tosses his head back and laughs before widening the door for both of us before I raise my voice to explain myself, but he keeps on at it. "Nah, I'm kidding. You're Ragna, right? Your little brother's showed me quite a few pictures of you, you're a lot more built up close like this, you know? Anyways, I'm Hazama. One of three agents who work on this level." He lets us in and pulls out a phone card to offer me. It was a traditional white with his name written in an archaic black, "Hazama Terumi" with his phone number under it. The trio of adorable green snakes, however seems to catch me off guard. I shove it into one of my pockets as the girl stands quietly for us to finish.

"Thanks." I offer him a hand to shake, which he gives a firm, hearty grip, much to my surprise – His slender hand gave more strength than I expected, but I figure that beneath that suit and slender form, he may have been an acrobat. Well, he seemed the type, just by looking at his form. "By the way, how do you know Jin?" He grins back, letting go of my hand to smooth his hair out.

"Well, let's just say that we met in a club." I throw him a dirty look, but he laughs again, much to my growing irritation. "I'm not kidding! He was dancing with a few girls, couple of guys, you know? Being a regular at there, I couldn't help but to notice that he was new around, so I got a couple of drinks with him and chatted. Don't worry; nothing happened after that night that besides phone calls and a few cups of coffee." I don't believe him, seeing how uptight and needlessly strict he was about my own sloppy habits. Hazama puts a hand on my shoulder as if comforting, but it doesn't feel like it on my end. "He's rather fond of you, I can tell. Says he's taking care of your sister so you can go on with your own life and always goes over to your place to make sure you're okay. It must to be nice to have such a caring brother." His Cheshire formed lips lowered to that of something close to genuine and I feel like he's slightly jealous of the fact that Jin and I get along well, but the short, warm mood is immediately broken by a more jester like expression. "Have you seen his motorcycle collection by the way? Gosh, I'm envious!" I shrug his hand of my shoulder and exhale.

"Yeah, I've seen it," I start, a little impatient now. "But I'm here as a photographer. Not some friend who's ready to hear your life story of relationships with a younger male." Hazama claps his hands together in a most girlish way.

"Ah, right! Sorry, I get carried away pretty easily. I see that you've met Lambda here already? Right, of course you have. She's the model you'll be working with most of the time you'll be working here. We'll introduce you to the others and the crew once we're on our break later." He looks at his watch and clicks his tongue. "Tut tut. Lambda, do call that bitch Kokonoe and dear Litchi to fancy you up, will you? We'll be running off schedule if we don't finish the shoot before our lunch break, so meet up with them in your dressing room." His choice of words and casual tone irks me a bit, but I brush it off. I'm no better, being an asshole when it comes to being around friends. Friends? Ah right. The only ones I had left were out of the state. I slightly grumble at the thought of them – The last time I even looked at them was at Nu's funeral. Lambda bows her head and whispers a light, "Acknowledged," and runs off as she pulls her cellphone out to dial the numbers. Hazama slings an arm around me and with a flick of his arm, the music turns off and the remote to the CD player is thrown casually aside.

"Well, Rags. I estimate a good half-hour or hour will be left for us to explore the rest of the agency before you actually get to business. How about we have a good chat now? Maybe I can introduce you to my own brothers." He leads me out of his room, arm still swung around me and walks around like he's used to this. I can only imagine that his brothers are carbon clones of him or something, and I hoped they were a little calmer and less talkative. "Oh, how about we discuss the news instead? Oh, heard of that Lotte Carmine guy? They say he's disappeared for about a month or something by now. Think he's gotten himself killed?" I stare at him as our slow steps take down the hall, and he offers me that grin he must be known for again. "He used to work here." I stiffen as we continue off, the uncanny thought of Carmine's case now lingering on my mind. It's hard to shake off the thought of me getting involved with this mystery, so I manage to pull myself together and grin back.

Thoughts about the shoot, my camera, Nu's death, and the endless possibility of what may become of my job faded as I give him my next words that will inevitably push me into a twisted world of puzzling schemes and puzzles, taking a dip into what will eventually grab me into the depths of this infamous disappearance. "Tell me about Carmine."

Hazama only grins wider as if he expected me to ask him.

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><p>Thanks so much again for reading. Please tell me what you'd like to see more of! (But really, sorry for being so unorganized with this, haha)<br>The next chapter will be "Meet the Model", featuring none other than the lovely Melody Vermilion herself. And from figuring the surname I give her, I'm sure you must have known that I made Melody(Mu) Noel's older sister by now. I was going to make Noel have split personalities, but it just doesn't work out for this story, trust me.

Oh, and also! I don't mean to advertise or anything, but I'm making a massive crack series dedicated to the alternate palettes of the BlazBlue cast, called "Spectral Da Capo!"... It's a guilty pleasure of mine to see people mess around with the alternate colors, names, and personalities of the many wonderful characters of BlazBlue, making them individuals of their own. I know it's kinda frowned upon, but seriously, it's only crack and for your own amusement, which is why in "Spectral Da Capo!" _anything goes_. If you're interested in submitting a crack pair, palette, etc. please message me!

It would help me a lot, since I have plenty in store for it. Thank you all again!


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